The Nunnery
by SixThings
Summary: Darcy and Bingley are stranded in Meryton and become entangled with an eccentric cluster of sisters—The Nunnery at Longbourn. Colonel Fitzwilliam blows in. Mr. Collins writes Lady Catherine to come. Bingley asks Caroline to keep house and she brings a friend. Intrigues occur as the weather keeps everyone in village. Excerpt only, story pulled for publication.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

HAMLET Ha, ha, are you honest?

OPHELIA My lord?

HAMLET Are you fair?

OPHELIA What means your lordship?

HAMLET That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.

OPHELIA Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honest?

HAMLET Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometimes a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.

OPHELIA Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.

HAMLET You should not have believ'd me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not.

OPHELIA I was the more deceived.

HAMLET Get thee to a nunnery*: why would though be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all: believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?

OPHELIA At home, my lord.

HAMLET Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house. Farewell.

OPHELIA O, help him, you sweet heavens!

HAMLET If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell.

OPHELIA Heavenly powers, restore him!

HAMLET I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, you nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages: those that are married already, all but one, shall live. The rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go.

Exit HAMLET

Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1

* * *

* nunnery:

noun, 1. A building which houses women of a religious order; a convent

noun, 2. (slang) A brothel


	2. Blown Off Course

**Author's Note:** Dear Readers:  The Nunnery is available for pre-order on Amazon and will be released next **_Wednesday, January 31, 2018_**. Search for  The Nunnery by Anne Morris. Only this excerpt is available here.

* * *

 **Blown off Course**

It was feverishly cold and the light failed so early that night would be upon them soon. Fitzwilliam Darcy looked over at his friend next to him in the carriage as it rattled and swayed on this road to nowhere.

"I'm freezing," said Bingley.

"You said that a mile back," replied Darcy.

"I was cold a mile back too," remarked his friend and pulled the rug on his lap up to his chin. "Any idea how much longer?"

"No idea. The last innkeeper in Stevenage said it was five miles to this odd little town that would have rooms when everywhere else is full up."

"Meryton…" said Bingley, "sounds mysterious, let us hope it has merit or, at least decent rooms."

"Let us hope." Darcy looked at his friend with half a smile then looked across at his valet who slept, despite the cold, sprawled out on the seat. Thankfully, Pursglove never snored. It was quiet again except for the sounds of the carriage and some outside sounds, the jangle of harnesses, the horse's hooves. Mr. Hatch and the groom braved the cold on top of the box. Darcy had offered the young groom a place inside, but the groom had insisted, for reasons of his own, to ride in his usual spot next to the coachman.

The sounds stopped as the carriage came to a halt unexpectedly. Darcy and Bingley glanced at each other as they heard Mr. Hatch speaking. If he spoke to someone they could not hear another voice in reply. When sufficient time passed and they still did not move, Darcy looked at his friend who only tucked his rug around him more forcefully with rather elaborate movements and avoided his eyes.

"I will see what is the delay," Darcy growled and opened the carriage door to leap down and shut it as quickly as he could.

A young woman in a soft green cloak stood by the side of the road. She was tall but beyond that and her youth, he could distinguish nothing in the depths of her hood. A dog frisked at her feet and the little thing barked at Darcy as he peered down at it.

"Sir," called Mr. Hatch down from his seat, "this young lady was out in the cold and with night closing in I felt I should offer her a ride, but she seems to think she does not need it." Darcy looked back at the young woman.

"Do you live close by?" The figure was motionless and mute though the dog continued to move about her feet. The dog had a bright red scarf around his neck which helped to distinguish his white coat—marked with a few smudgy gray patches—from the snow. Darcy stamped his feet as he could feel the cold creep into them; this set the little dog to barking again, jumping around his mistress' feet with enthusiasm. The figure in the cloak still made no answer.

"Well, it is too cold to be out, let us see you to town," he tried. The hood moved, but he could not tell if it nodded or shook, yes or no. The green figure, however, did not move towards the carriage. Darcy stomped his feet as his legs were now cold and his toes were most definitely icy. "Look miss, let us get you out of the cold," he began but he turned as he heard a thud, and West the groom was beside him having dropped down from the box.

"Oy…miss…get inside…it's cold."

Darcy thought West must have bitten back a few retorts between words, but the green figure moved then and Darcy leaped to open the door and usher it inside crawling in after her. She sat not beside Pursglove the valet but by Bingley in the forward-facing seat, and he considered the cheek of her to do so. He went to sit next to Pursglove and found the seat taken by the dog which he had entirely forgotten about.

"Get off!" He commanded biting back his own retort, and the dog did just that as the carriage lurched into motion again. He sat down next to his valet and stared at their new occupants; the girl in her green cloak and the dog at her feet. She remained buried in her hood, her form hidden beneath her cloak, bulky and tangled, as it had wrapped around her when she sat down. Darcy looked over at his friend who still maintained his position under his rug but with a bemused smile on his face.

"Do you live in Meryton?" Asked Darcy. The figure stared at him, or rather, stared straight forward though she squirmed beneath her cloak as though excessively fidgety.

"We are to Meryton to stay at the Inn, the Lion," called out Bingley who finally decided to join the conversation in this extremely unusual arrangement. Darcy eyed the cloak and could see it was of a fine-woven wool which spoke of her being of higher birth than a mere farmer's daughter—perhaps she was a tradesman's child and had been out walking and lost her way? But what parent would let a child out on such an infernal day as today? The storms had abated, but the cold had been drawing down well below the freezing mark for days which was why the roads into London were impassible, and all of the inns from Stevenage to Hatfield were booked.

"Red Lion," said a voice from the hood at last.

"Pardon?" said Bingley from his seat, sitting up a little.

"Inn's the 'Red Lion'," said the girl.

"Ah," said Bingley who seemed to not have anything else to say which was odd since Bingley always had a mouthful whenever it came to young women; anything in skirts under the age of twenty-five and he was apt to chatter away for hours unless Darcy stopped him—which was often his role in their friendship: redirecting his young friend away from the smiles and wide eyes, but the grasping hands, of women who were deviously interested in his fortune.

"Ahem, yes, we are heading to the Red Lion as all the inns in Stevenage are full due to the snow and the cold," said Darcy. He wondered that he talked so much. "Is Meryton a big town?"

"No, more like a village," said the girl.

"Small then…are we likely to find room?" He continued.

"There's always room at the inn," he could hear amusement in her voice, but he was not sure if it was because of the slight biblical reference. She fidgeted again, and he wondered if he made her nervous. His height and his usual reticence to speak often put people off, he knew, but as his friend still hunkered down under his rug making no effort at conversation, Darcy felt compelled to continue. It was, after all, a most unusual situation.

"Where might we drop you?" Darcy asked. "And we still do not know your name."

"Miss…Bennet," she answered, and fidgeted again in her place next to Bingley. He thought that they were, at last, achieving some headway. He was about to repeat his first question—after introducing himself and his friend—when a head popped out from beneath that cloak. A lamb let out a piercing bleat which made his friend break into laughter, and the noise finally woke Pursglove who jumped up planting a rather solid kick into Darcy's side as he woke, swearing enough to make a sailor proud.

The girl shifted her position as she moved with what seemed to be comforting gestures to soothe the creature though Darcy could not tell exactly what she was doing beneath the cloak. The creature closed its eyes, and Miss Bennet pulled it back under the folds of her garment. Bingley stopped laughing, and Pursglove stopped swearing, but Darcy still stared at her unsure he was not now dreaming: that he had been rocked to sleep by the motion of the carriage and was simply experiencing a most bizarre dream where _he_ spoke more than Bingley, and a girl sat with a lamb on her lap and a dog at her feet across from him in his own carriage.

"It is newborn, see, and it is too cold outside," said his passenger.

"It is too cold outside for humans too," ventured Bingley from his spot. Pursglove still had not recovered from his rude awakening but stared at the young lady as though he was also in some dreamstate he could not explain.

"Do you normally go about rescuing newborn lambs on cold days?" Asked Darcy.

"Yes," her answer rang out powerful and sincere, and the dog at her feet sat up to look at him as if to question Darcy's right to question her motives. The tiny creature then settled down again on top of a bit of Bingley's rug which pooled on the carriage floor to sleep once more.

"I see," said Darcy who felt again that he was dreaming. He glanced at his friend and then at his valet who raised an eyebrow but had nothing to say. "Can you let us know where to take you?"

"I will get out at the Inn. My aunt lives around the corner," and then she dropped her head to hide her face. Darcy looked over at Bingley who still sat tucked beneath his covering, hunched down but with that bemused look on his face.

"This is all very irregular," said Bingley. "I imagine once we arrive, she will spring out the door; she seems more wild creature than girl." He spoke as if the young lady was not even in the carriage with them, not sitting next to him, as if he too was experiencing some odd dreamlike state. Darcy did not know what to say to his friend, but the carriage slowed, lurching over to the right before stopping. He looked out the window to see a red brick building, very plain in its construction, a bright red door to the entrance, a bowed window where the tap room was situated and four windows along the top where the rooms were, no doubt, located. He hoped there were rooms at the back, as well, since there were five in their party alone.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy opened the door stepping down into a gray mass of snow and dirt to hand down their passenger, but his friend had the measure of it, the small dog leaped past him, and the wild creature in the green cloak grabbed the opening of the doorframe, swung herself out—ignoring Darcy's offered hand—to land in that snow and scurried off, up past the horses who snickered, and was instantly out of sight around the other side of the carriage. He moved to see the figure and the dog race past what looked like a well, turn a corner, and disappear.

"Irregular," called his friend, who dropped to the ground next to him, and then strode with purpose towards that red door where he was anticipating a roaring fire within. Darcy was contemplating the green cloak, and his quick glance at the face and the blue eyes he had spied—she was truly a young girl, probably the same age as his sister, Georgiana—and wondering the turn life had given him by taking this road to Meryton.

His servants were unloading the carriage as efficiently as they could, and Darcy spared a glance across the inn courtyard, which was on the side of the building, gazing at the shop next door. A face stared out at him from a large multi-paned window which graced the front of the shop. No doubt, the merchant or shopkeeper, or whatever tradesman was within, had heard their arrival and came to spy on whoever was arriving at the Red Lion Inn. No doubt this was such a small village that no one ever came to stay here, and he and his friend would be the subject of gossip.

Darcy groaned as he assumed that man had seen their mysterious passenger in green escape from their carriage and flee. No doubt, _that_ would be the subject of village news for the next few days, and he wondered just exactly _how_ much gossip? Had he and his friend just managed to compromise a young lady—and which of them was to deal with the circumstances?

Inside the Inn his friend stood before a huge fireplace as close as he could get to it without burning his coat. Darcy removed his gloves, splaying his fingers out to the coals until he felt life returning to them. The fireplace, at least, appeared normal and regular though the last part of their journey had certainly been eccentric. He turned to warm his backside once his fingers were alive and as Bingley was doing the same he ventured to mention their joint odd experience of the carriage ride.

"I am not certain that was a girl, perhaps a wood sprite, or a changling, or some other fairy folk to enchant us," quipped his friend.

"We certainly did not invent the name of Bennet by ourselves," ventured Darcy.

"Bennet is a common-enough name; I am certain we were napping and it came to us in a dream," yawned his friend. "I am tired and hungry and ready for a meal. The innkeeper went to see to our rooms. Can you believe it? There is _another_ gentleman staying here? This place is certainly off the trodden path, to be sure, which is why that last Stevenage innkeeper sent us here, but we are not the first to show our faces. One of the servants may need to share with this man's man."

"So long as I do not need share with _you_ ," said Darcy. "If I recall, you snore."

"No, no…," humored his friend making a placating gesture, "let the men work it out between them. I fear it is Pursglove who will be the most distraught as he is going to have to share with somebody."

"My dear sirs!"

The two friends turned from their conversation to look at a tall, yet heavy man standing before them. He was dressed in the clothes of a clergyman and was bouncing from his heels to his toe tips and back again; he stood quite close with a wide, almost toad-like smile on his face. Darcy frowned at the interruption; was this to be a day where social norms held no boundaries? Where there was no fabric of society and he offered carriage rides to strange young ladies, and any man could walk up and speak to him without being introduced? The stern look on his face did nothing to discourage the man from speaking.

"My dear sirs," repeated the man, "I could not help but hear you mention the name of Bennet! A most illustrious name hereabouts and that of my Master, Mr. Bennet of Longbourn."

"You do not say," growled Darcy who did not know if he wished to make the acquaintance of the man before him for the man did not grow on him at all.

"If he is your Master, why are you staying at the Inn, and not at this _'Longbourn_?' " Asked Mr. Bingley. Darcy turned to look at his friend. It was an excellent question to pose. Darcy had been considering how annoyed he was with the man's arrogance in speaking to him without an introduction. But if the man was the heir, why was he then settled at the Inn?

The question did make the man's smile falter on his face, his shoulders slumping down which emphasized his considerable belly—whatever parish he served it was an excellent living that the man could eat so well. "Ah, well, we have had a few quarrels in the past, you see…" And then he looked up as the innkeeper came into the room.

"Sirs, I have your rooms ready for you, and a hot meal will be waiting once you've divested yourselves of your coats and washed," said their host. Like their unwanted acquaintance, he bounced from heel to toe tip—but only once.

"Thank you, Mr…?" prompted Darcy.

"Lyons," grinned back their host whose eyes twinkled at the joke. "Now then, Mr. Collins, if you want to go into the tap room I will bring your meal there."

"Tap room! Where liquor is served to common folk?" shrieked the vicar. "I will not eat in the tap room!"

"Ah, well, beggin' your pardon, good vicar, I've no other place to feed you." The roaring fire that Bingley and Darcy were monopolizing stood in a small hall with a settee just inside the door underneath a window, and with a passageway at the back but with not much else to characterize it besides a second window which looked out onto the carriage court. A doorway next to that fireplace led into that tap room where apparently tables and chairs—and hopefully another equally warm fire—awaited the three guests and their servants.

"I, good man, will eat now and leave my coat for my man to handle," said Bingley, and he turned leaving the fire behind and departed through the doorway.

"And you, Mr. Darcy, shall you run upstairs first?" asked Mr. Lyons. Darcy thought he heard what sounded like a squawk from that man in black, but Darcy did his best to ignore the figure.

"No, I shall join my friend. Tell my men to not bother about the luggage or our clothes but to join us as soon as the horses are seen to; it has been a long and rather rough journey, and I would rather that they eat." He turned to join his friend without speaking again to the as-yet introduced and bothersome stranger though he now knew he had the name of Collins.

The tap room was larger than the side hall. Its main fireplace backed onto the one in the hall and coals burned there providing warmth to the room. Bingley was already seated at a table directly in front of that glowing warmth with a drink in front of him, a plate piled with food, and a fork held tightly in his hand. He waggled his eyebrows, as his mouth was too full, to indicate his pleasure at the food and the atmosphere. Darcy pulled out the chair opposite, and he had just sat down when the black figure came swooping in to stand next to them.

"Excuse me, are you not the illustrious Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire? Nephew of the distinguished and most noble, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings? I believe I see some resemblance in your form and in your bearing. Oh, do say that you are!" The man clapped his hands together then, actually clapped them!

Darcy had to deal with overly eager tradesmen, who wished for his custom and wanted to sell him all sorts of items he did not wish to purchase. He had to deal with over-the-moon debutantes, who sighed and smiled and simpered at him as if that was all he wished to know from a lady. He had to deal with interfering aunts, who made it their business to remind him, monthly, that he had yet to marry and had a dire responsibility to do so. But he was damned if he was going to tolerate an anxious, inquisitive, breathless and, above all, annoying clergyman who did not know his place in society.

"No," said Darcy and then turned to admire the fire. A barman came with a drink and his meal a few seconds later, and he turned to eat without looking again at the intruder whose shoes squeaked as he rocked on those toes as if he did not know what to do next. Squeak, squeak, squeak went the shoe leather as Darcy chewed, and the man watched him eat. Another plate was brought out for the vicar, placed on a separate table, the fork rattled as it went down next to the plate, but the man did not leave.

Darcy looked up at his friend who chewed, though with the biggest grin on his face; his eyes dancing in merriment. Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak was heard but finally a thud indicated Mr. Collins had planted his heels on the ground. A sound, something like a farm animal blowing forcefully through its nose was made, and then, at last, the audacious man walked to his plate to eat.

"I wonder how long we will be staying here?" beamed his friend.

"I certainly hope the roads open up soon. How does one account for such luck as to be stuck in such a place? Had we known we could have stayed at…" Darcy glanced briefly at the third guest, pursed his lips and continued, "with all of its comforts and amusements, or left but a few days earlier to beat the snow."

"Ah, but that blanket of fog covered the great city which was why you delayed leaving in the first place. When we left…your estate…you did not know we'd be driving through two days of snowfall," said Bingley, who sighed contentedly, and took a long pull at his ale, and sighed again. "I shall sleep well tonight."

"You shall snore if you drink too many of those; I certainly hope you are not next door to me," said his friend. but he followed Bingley's example, and downing a long swallow of ale let out his own contented sigh. It was peaceful for a few minutes until his ears picked up the sounds of some rather rhythmic chewing—chomp, chomp, chomp—floated across the tap room towards them. Then a pause, and then more rhythmic chewing; it appeared that the good vicar was constructive with time and ensured his meal was properly masticated before he swallowed it. Darcy thought the mutton had been presentable, not the best he had ever eaten, but not the sort of flesh that required extra time to be ground between one's molars.

He sighed again, but not because of the ale. He looked over and saw that while the clergyman was methodically chewing he was also staring in their direction. There was a second, smaller fireplace at the other end of the room, and Darcy lifted his tankard, caught his friend's eyes, inclined his head, and they removed to the other end of the room.

The figure in black watched as they paced in front of him to the second fireplace though he never stopped his chewing. This fireplace appeared to be a Rumsford, a newer addition to an older building—perhaps a fireplace had been added to the room up above as well.

"I wanted to move out of earshot of our acquaintance there, to warn you my friend," began Darcy who watched his friend drain the last of the ale from his tankard and set it on the floor next to him as there was no near table. Bingley waved his hand at him to continue. "I fear that our presence at the Inn has been noted by the local residents and we may be the subject of town news; I wonder if our ferreting that young lady to town might not have been our undoing."

"How so Dar…" his friend put a hand up to his mouth to censor himself and looked back at the third guest, who seemed to now be making a show of ignoring them, though the way he inclined his head it was obvious he was actually attempting to listen to their conversation.

"I hope that no one considers that we have," and Darcy lowered his voice even more, "perhaps compromised our mysterious passenger."

"A farmer's daughter?" frowned his friend.

"She is not a farmer's daughter, her cloak alone proclaimed differently and if our annoying acquaintance over there is to be believed, she is the daughter of a local landowner, a gentleman's daughter."

"I say Darcy! I say!" Bingley ruffled his fingers through his hair though his blond curls fell immediately back into place. He was a handsome man, always in favor with the ladies, well-spoken, but sincere, not of the type set for seduction. Darcy often envied Bingley's easiness in company and in speaking to both sexes; Bingley's manners were always impeccable. "I am too young to be forced into marriage. That should be you." His friend pointed a finger at him.

"It should be Mr. Hatch, but I fear his wife might object to his marrying our sprite," smiled Darcy. "After all, Mr. Hatch stopped the carriage and insisted we take her up out of the cold."

"I say Darcy, it never occurred to me she was a young lady, proper born and bred," babbled his friend. The hand went to his hair again, and Darcy began to wonder if he was overly worrying his friend.

"Let me get you more ale, it should help calm you." The barman was nowhere to be seen so he called out but received no answer. Darcy finally stood and walked to the back of the tap room, called again, and the man came running. Two more tankards were ordered, and Darcy traced back to his seat but that annoying figure hissed and then beckoned him.

When he showed no signs of stopping Mr. Collins stood and hiss-whispered, "Mr. Darcy," and by instinct Darcy stopped and then he knew he was caught. He said nothing to this audacious man but glared at him as best he could to show his displeasure, but the man was not off-put at all.

"I knew it was you all along! There is no mistaking that regal bearing—I see such similarities between you and your noble and distinguished aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh!" jabbered on the man in black. Still Darcy said nothing, but looked at him from beneath furled brows. "I can well understand that you do not wish to acknowledge that you are _that_ Mr. Darcy, you are here on some little intrigue so I shall hold my tongue. Let me tell you that I am ever the discreet man and not one to be forever rambling on!" A wide smile graced his face then and his eyes appeared to be popping from their sockets. "We men all need to have our little secrets—I understand you perfectly, Mr. D.!" And the man then reached over to pat him on the chest. Darcy turned rapidly in place and marched back to his friend who was warming his hands over the coals.

"Bingley, when the barman comes with the tankards, I shall need to drink both yours and mine, because one will not be enough after what I have just experienced," explained Darcy as he took up his seat.


End file.
